Date: Sat, 16 Apr 2016 01:03:54 +0000
From: J. W. <jaywise1972@gmail.com>
Subject: Baba's Prayer, Part 5

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This story is a work of fiction and contains descriptions of explicit
sexual acts between a father and a son.

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* * *

Part 5:

	Isha'a is my favorite time of the day. The prayer at Isha'a begins
when the red light has gone from the western sky, just before midnight;
approximately halfway between night and dawn.

	It is also the time when Baba is most devout. Tonight he has
unrolled his prayer rug next to my bed. Moonbeams stream through the large
window and the warm desert breeze licks at the gossamer curtains, making
them ripple and shimmer in the silvery light.

	The day was extremely hot, and even now the heat seeps into my
room. Sweat gleams upon Baba as his belly rubs my back. His thick cock is
deep within me, as it often is at this time of night. I turn my head and
look up at him in the muted half-light. My father's eyes are wide open and
he stares down at me, the dark brown of them burning with the intensity of
his faith and raw heat of lust. One thick, wide pectoral muscle rubs
against the soft skin of my cheek and I see moonlight reflected in the
wetness of his flexing bicep.

	My other cheek is flat upon the prayer mat, but I am on my knees,
the smoothness of my ass high in the air as Baba drives in and out, in and
out in time with his breath, in time with the whispered words of his
prayer. I could never imagine doing anything else, or listening to holy
prayers in any other way.

	Baba grunts, and his thrusting stops, his hips spasming as he
buries himself to the hilt, thrusting that list inch in sharp, rhythmic
punctuations. I feel the big shaft inside of me pulsing. Baba is breeding
me again. His breath is hot and humid against the top of my head. But I
know the night is only beginning. It is Isha'a.

	I spread my legs wider, my lower back arching downward, and for the
first time, I feel the air from the window upon that patch of skin, still
wet from Baba's sweaty groin and flat belly.

	He begins to move again. He is still hard as steel and the walls of
my silken boy hole cling to every ripple, every vein as he pulls back and
pushes in, beginning the cycle again. His prayer never stops, and I am
being fucked once more. Baba has unleashed the torrent of his potent cream
inside of me two times already, his desire fueled by the hot desert wind
and a lifetime of longing for the forbidden. If I were Allah, I would be
proud to see him like this, in all of his raw, sexual power; all his
masculine potency, taking his pleasure within the fruit of his own virile
loins.

	His hand covers my mouth and he leans down, his hips continuing
their inexorable rise and fall. His lips touch my left ear and I feel his
hot tongue slither inside. This always drives me wild... the sensations are
beyond description. I moan into his fingers, squirming under him, which is,
naturally, exactly what he wishes me to do.

	"Good boy," he growls in the language of our ancestors. "My
beautiful boy, servant to his baba, as I served my own, and he served his
before that. So it has been in our family from the beginning, and so it
will be for generations to come. Allah is great. See how he watches us. See
the pleasure he takes in our love."  His words are liquid, smooth, but
broken occasionally by soft moans and gasps as the hotness of my slippery
hole works its magic on his massive organ.

	Baba touches places inside of me that I don't remember him reaching
before this night. Perhaps it is the position, his favorite. Perhaps his
desire has made him grow even thicker and longer. My bottom rises to meet
his thrusts and he growls in approval.

	"Yes, Sabbi. take Baba's cock. I will breed you again. Perhaps all
night. Would you like that?"

	What else would I say? "Yes, Baba," I moan between his deep inward
plunges. "I never want you to stop. Not until Allah wills it."

	Baba hisses with pleasure, his movements quickening again as he
empties another load of his seed inside me. There is so much of it now that
it leaks from around the tight ring of my hole to run in rivulets down
smoothness of my balls and cock. My back arches against him and I cry out
through his thick fingers, the wide, flaring head inside of me forcing the
orgasm out of me.

	I shudder and twist in Baba's grasp, but he is strong enough to
hold me fast. The white cream of my boyhood spurts downward to land upon
the prayer mat, joining the hundreds of other discolorations from our
previous prayers. I feel his groin against my upturned ass as he drives
himself in as deeply as he is able, intensifying the spasms of ecstasy that
rack my slender body.

	I nearly collapse beneath Baba's muscular body, but my knees manage
to hold us both in place. Baba's big cock pulses inside of me slowly, as if
each shrinking gush of his semen matches his slowing heartbeat.

	We are both drenched in sweat but, unlike so many nights before, we
are not yet ready to end the prayer. Baba settles upon my back, the meaty
bulk of his chest against my shoulder blades. He lets out a long, slow
breath.

	"I am ready, Sabbi," he intones. "Allah is pleased. You have taken
Baba's cream, but now he will give you the gift you
deserve. Gold... precious gold for Sabbi's insides. To fill you with the
radiance of the grand mosque itself.

	I feel the heat, then. The searing liquid from deep inside my
father's body traveling along the long, thick tube and filling me slowly,
steadily, inevitably, with Baba's salty sweetness. No father and son could
be closer than this, than for one to feel the expansion of his insides by
the other, than to share the hot bubbling communion fed from father to son,
an offering both to Allah and to each other.

	On and on, Baba voids himself inside me. I feel my belly and guts
swell, until I feel nearly pregnant with it. Baba reaches around as his
flow slows to a small stream, then a trickle, then droplets as his ass
clenches and he tries to squeeze every remaining drop into the hotness of
my deep asshole. He rubs my belly gently, whispering in my year. "You see?
Baba has made you pregnant, Sabbi. He has put his offspring deep inside
you. There they will stay. Treasure what I have given you, my son. It is
rare that a father may breed his son in the light of Allah's love.

	I nod and lay my head upon the carpet. I am filled to the utmost,
and soon I will feel the aching need to relieve myself . but first, Baba
and I both know what must happen. One last time, the massive piston within
me begins to move. My father draws forth his huge cock, leaving the wide
head inside me lest all that he has given me burst forth onto the
floor. When he slides back in, I feel the liquid inside making room for
him, his thick plunger pushing the golden mixture of cum and piss deeper
into my innards. I hear the wet squishing sound with each thrust. In the
quiet of the moonlit room, we fuck, father atop son, son spread wide and
subservient beneath his baba's power and authority. Minutes go
back. Perhaps hours. We lose ourselves in the sacredness of this time.

	Baba' head rises and he looks to the ceiling, his breath coming in
ragged gasps as his hips slap my buttocks with the sounds of exploding
firecrackers. But there are no neighbors, no prying eyes to suspect what
goes on here. Baba begins crying out in time with his thrusts, each a
guttural, hoarse bark, their frequency increasing until his midsection is a
blur in the half-light. He leans down, wrapping one arm around my
midsection as he pounds harder and harder, and we begin to move off the
prayer mat.

	It does not matter. His thrusts drive me forward until my head is
upon the soft, low mattress of my bed. Baba's other hand grips my right
shoulder with the strength of iron and he begins to pray in earnest, his
words garbled and breathless as he nears his climax.

	And climax Baba mightily does. With a harsh roar he pins my ass to
the floor and my torso to the low bed frame and unloads a final thick load
inside me. The raw power of this fuck sends me other the edge and I
experience my second orgasm of the night, and Baba his fourth.

	Baba knows he cannot leave me like this, however. Nor would he ever
wish to. He has given me his gift, and I have given him mine. Now all must
be brought back to equilibrium. Sliding the massive hose out of my
well-used ass, Baba spreads my legs and pushes me up onto the bed, so that
my lower half hangs over its edge. Then I feel his beard against my
reddened buttocks and his lips and tongue against my ravaged hole. He
sucks, and I know what I must do. I relax my body and return to him that
which he has put inside of me.

	Baba gulps and gulps, slurping and licking as gout after gout of
his own thick cum, mixed with his piss and bits of the mid-day meal fill
his mouth and belly. He drinks and eats from me greedily, and I feed him as
he enjoys doing to me. On these rare nights, he tasks himself with
pleasuring me this way. It is as if he wishes to set aside his authority,
his position for a time and become the boy himself; become my Sabbi. When
he is like this, I do what he loves most.

	"Mmmmm.. Yes, Baba. You are Sabbi now. Drink and eat from me. Allah
wills it. Eat from your boy's ass as you did from your Baba long ago."

	Baba moans and I hear and feel him swallowing as the mixture
thickens upon his tongue.

	His moans are muffled as I fill his mouth. "Ahhh, Baba... Eat from
your Sabbi. Finish it all. You mustn't spill it. It is an offering to
Allah, and Allah's prophet, peace be upon him."

	Only when I am completely empty and Baba has licked my hole clean
do we both slump into each other's arms. Minutes pass as we gather what
remaining strength we possess. Baba kisses my forehead. "Good night,
Sabbi."

	"Good night, Baba. I love you."

	I sleep the sleep of angels

***